It Makes You Feel
by Blood White Panther
Summary: Harry is depressed. He messes with Draco head. It goes downhill from there. Don't read if you don't want to be unsettled and disgusted and depressed. Read the warnings before you continue.


**Title: **It Makes You Feel

**Warning: **language, manipulation, guy-on-guy action/slash, 'sort of consensual non-con' (read the whole thing and you'll understand what I mean), DarkAndDepressing!fic, etc.

**A/N:** This a one-shot so don't expect updates.

**Disclaimer: **I _wish_ this was mine but it isn't and I don't make any money from this and if I keep explaining this I might have to drown myself so, yeah, The End.

**Harry's P.O.V. (the 'blond Slytherin' is Draco)**

**It Makes You Feel**

You don't feel anything in this dull, fuzzy place your mind takes you to when you're tired and weak and finished with it all. Everything is grey. Well, the world isn't _really_ dull and grey but actually full of colours but you just don't care enough to notice. What's important is that it _feels_ grey.

Until one day you piss some one off. Some blond-haired Slytherin prat. You realize that, for a moment, you actually cared enough to think to call him that: a 'blond-haired Slytherin prat'. Experimentally, you say the last two words aloud and you smirk when it infuriates him. Well damn, you found something that can make you feel a little. So you get angry at the world and like any good cliché you spend all your time pissing off as many people as you can because it makes you feel something.

You discover that it hurts the most if you can make them care enough to hate you back. For awhile, your friends can make you feel the deepest because your angry words provoke more angry words in return and it tightens your esophagus and burns your eyes and grabs you by the throat when they break down and cry. Sometimes, if you cross the right lines, you can get them to say what you need to hear to cry with them. It hurts so much to hear them say it but, damn it, at least you feel _something_.

Eventually you don't have any friends left because it hurts them too much to be around you and you remember that 'blond Slytherin prat'. So, you seek him out. You stalk him for awhile and piss him off every chance you get and it's not that hard because the uptight git is pretty easy to piss off if you say the right words. You discover that he's looking for a fight, too, and he can say all the right words to piss _you_ off.

Anger and hatred make your heart pump and your fists fly and you turn the fight from words and wands to physical violence because you want to feel alive. It hurts like Hell when he slams your head into the wall, but after you're done feeling nauseous you kind of like the pain. You lick your lips and taste blood, but you kind of like that too. At least you can feel now.

For weeks you spend every day just pissing off the Slytherin because you've discovered that you like pain, but eventually this feels hollow, too, and you need something different to make you feel. Just when you think the edges of the day are staring to look grey and flat again, you remember that it hurts more if you can make the other person care.

So you track down the Slytherin and push him against a wall and kiss him fiercely. You don't get any pleasure from it because you're straight and you're kind of homophobic and it disgusts you, but you keep kissing him because now he's kissing back and you know you can make him care. Disgust is still a feeling after all and you would do _anything_ to push away the grey.

For awhile, anger and revulsion are enough so you alternate between kissing him and pissing him off. It turns out you were right. He's better at hurting you now that he knows you a little better. You don't love him, but you know he's starting to love you so you care a little when you hurt him. You're just using him to keep away the grey and you feel guilty and soon it hurts to hurt him. But you don't care enough to stop hurting him because he cuts you deeper now and you can feel hate and despair and anger again. Guilt is still a feeling, after all, and you won't let go if he makes you feel.

You realize that, if you push him far enough, his anger scares you. You decide you like the fear because it makes your palms sweat and your heart race and you feel exhilarated. You want to feel that way again. So, you push his buttons and cross all the wrong lines and say all the wrong things and get him angry so you can beat each other bloody again, and maybe, just maybe, you can really make him lose it.

You're both panting now and your shoulder hurts and you're on the ground and he's on top of you and, oh shit, you've pushed it too far and he's going to kill you and you're afraid again. But it's different now and for the first time you don't really like fear. It's too intense for some one like you, some one who gets lost in shades of grey. Bloody Hell, he's going to fuckin' kill you and you don't want to die yet.

No, you realise as he tries to kiss you, he's going to _rape_ you.

You only kissed him. You didn't mean to take it this far. You don't want this—him. You never did. You struggle. But damn your shoulder hurts and he's stronger than you in the throws of passion—which you realise now is what your fights have become for him. You realise you can't stop him and you stop struggling, but you cry when he pounds into you with no warning and no preparation.

It hurts like bloody hell and you know you really are bleeding, but then he starts to touch you and your hormones take over and maybe you're not straight after all because even if your mind is still screaming, your body reacts and he makes you cum for him.

When it's over, he whispers that he's sorry. He tells you he loves you and he cries because he hurt you and you cry because you don't love him and you never wanted it to go this far. But maybe you deserve it because you kissed him just to feel disgust and you hit him just to feel anger and you made him care just so he could hurt you better and you pissed him off and guess what? He did hurt you.

The next day you feel sick and guilty and you don't like it anymore and you want to be done with it all again. You remember liking pain, so you cut yourself. And it almost helps. You cut and cut and it's almost enough to keep you alive, but then you cut too deep and it's in the wrong place and you need some fuckin' help. _Now._ Or you're going to die. When he finds you, he yells and he cries and he panics, but he gets you to the Hospital Wing somehow and you don't die.

When you wake up you decide that the white walls are too close to being grey, so you sneak out in the middle of the night and go for a walk. You feel a little bit alive again but you can still feel the cuts on your arms and you can see the grey creeping in around the edges and you get scared of yourself and you don't want to be alone.

So you seek out the one who can make you feel because he cares a little and he's proved that he can keep you alive. He's a wreck now because he cares about you and because he hurt you and because he's angry that you hurt yourself. You're a little desperate, though, so you piss him off anyway. You know you shouldn't say the things you do because he's broken and you're crossing all the wrong lines again, but you do anyway because it makes you feel. And you know that he shouldn't hit you like this even if you do talk trash about him and his family and his whole damn life, but it turns out that he's just as lost as you are so he hits you anyway.

You don't know the limits anymore and you take it too far again and, oh shit, he's raping you again. When you can't push him off you give up and try to go away for awhile in your mind. But you can't ignore the way he's touching you and your body reacts again and, Bloody Hell, _you're_ touching _him_ now and it isn't really rape anymore. You wonder if it was ever really rape and if maybe you've been pretending to yourself from the start and some twisted part of you always wanted him to touch you to take away the grey.

He's happy for a moment because you're touching him and you're actually closer to being happy than you've been in awhile because it feels _so damn good_, but the moment doesn't last. He knows that he forced you into this, and you know that you started it all. So, when it's over, you're both crying again even though you both liked it. He holds you as you both sob yourselves to sleep and you let him because you feel guilty and loved and so damn _tired_.

He's gone when you wake up and you're okay for a few days, even though you can't stop crying. But then you get a phone call. Something happened that shocks you and makes you want to stop and think a bit but you can't stop and think just now because you have to go see him at the Hospital Wing because he was in an accident and he's hurt and not by you and it scares you.

You hold him and you cry and you realise that you don't want to lose him now, or ever, really. You don't want him to die just yet, and not just because it would leave you alone with the grey (though that still scares you) but also because then you couldn't hold each other anymore and you couldn't piss him off and he couldn't yell at you and he couldn't make you cum for him. You admit, finally, that maybe, just maybe, you could start to love him after all.

And so you kiss him and he kisses back and for the first time it isn't angry and you don't feel guilt or disgust. It's actually sort of soft and gentle now because you don't want to hurt him right now because he's already hurt and eventually you realise that you never want to stop because, damn it, it turns out that love is better than any other kind of pain. And you want it because it's broken and it hurts you and it makes it hard to breathe, but mainly you want it because it makes you feel.


End file.
